Solomon wasn't versed enough in soul-reading to tell the nuances of Skulduggery's intent for sure, but he didn't think mistrust was involved, exactly. It was more something else, a complicated blending of things Solomon couldn't yet translate. Not mistrust, but an unwillingness to be open. Or rather, an ... inability to be open. As if Skulduggery's hinges were rusted shut.
"I don't think it was that," he said, and his voice was still carefully neutral. "I think he's spent too long being self-contained. He feels he isn't worthy, and makes it so."
Solomon couldn't tell that because he'd seen it--at least, not completely. Not in so many images. He knew it because he knew Skulduggery, and more importantly, because he knew himself. After he'd realised what he'd done during that fight in the Temple, he'd felt like a coward. Skulduggery was a much better person who'd fallen much harder. He spent all this time covering unworthiness with warm arrogance. After all this time, of course he'd fallen into habits in which he didn't need to live up to expectations--because there weren't any expectations, except his own.
Now there were.
Now there were and Skulduggery was just throwing it all away, for no other reason than because of habit. Because he had already judged himself, and refused to let the ones who deserved to do so have the chance. Because he was--he was bloody selfish, that's what he was.
That was the part that made Solomon angry. It was a slow anger, a jealous anger. Because Skulduggery had people. Solomon had had no one. Skulduggery's family had hauled him out of the grave. Solomon had to haul himself, to such a degree that God had to intervene.
Solomon had had no one. In the past week, he was starting to realise just what he'd been missing out on. The very gift Skulduggery was using as if it would never run out.
It made Solomon furious. Furious and jealous and resentful, because Skulduggery had always had everything and taken it for granted so much that he could afford to let it go.
Solomon stared out the window, and even though he tried to keep his neutral mask, he knew his face had tightened and lips twisted bitterly. He'd told Valkyrie on their first meeting that Skulduggery changed people. The skeleton did. For that reason alone, he was dangerous.
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"I don't think it was that," he said, and his voice was still carefully neutral. "I think he's spent too long being self-contained. He feels he isn't worthy, and makes it so."
Solomon couldn't tell that because he'd seen it--at least, not completely. Not in so many images. He knew it because he knew Skulduggery, and more importantly, because he knew himself. After he'd realised what he'd done during that fight in the Temple, he'd felt like a coward. Skulduggery was a much better person who'd fallen much harder. He spent all this time covering unworthiness with warm arrogance. After all this time, of course he'd fallen into habits in which he didn't need to live up to expectations--because there weren't any expectations, except his own.
Now there were.
Now there were and Skulduggery was just throwing it all away, for no other reason than because of habit. Because he had already judged himself, and refused to let the ones who deserved to do so have the chance. Because he was--he was bloody selfish, that's what he was.
That was the part that made Solomon angry. It was a slow anger, a jealous anger. Because Skulduggery had people. Solomon had had no one. Skulduggery's family had hauled him out of the grave. Solomon had to haul himself, to such a degree that God had to intervene.
Solomon had had no one. In the past week, he was starting to realise just what he'd been missing out on. The very gift Skulduggery was using as if it would never run out.
It made Solomon furious. Furious and jealous and resentful, because Skulduggery had always had everything and taken it for granted so much that he could afford to let it go.
Solomon stared out the window, and even though he tried to keep his neutral mask, he knew his face had tightened and lips twisted bitterly. He'd told Valkyrie on their first meeting that Skulduggery changed people. The skeleton did. For that reason alone, he was dangerous.